Two Babies, Ten Coronas,
and a Platter of Pancakes

Blog Writing for Get Mighty Creative (Content Marketing Agency) Website, November 2022

The best table I ever served was in the middle of a thunderstorm. We started out on the patio, where a four-top made up of identical twin brothers, their wives, and two babies in strollers settled in for a leisurely brunch. Within fifteen minutes, however, the skies opened up and proceeded to dump rain and thunder down on the entire outdoor section of the restaurant, leading our team to scramble to open up the event space and pull out enough temporary tables to re-seat everyone.

This was in a breakfast/brunch spot in DC known for its bohemian atmosphere and entitled clientele, so I ran myself ragged pouring free mimosas and beer drafts to appease the crowds of cheesed-off Catholic University moms and grandpas. But this four-top (five-top, if you count each baby as one half) settled in with smiles and calls for Coronas--the cheapest beer on our brunch menu--and told me they were happy to sit and wait a while as the restaurant got itself back under control.

In restaurant life, there are times servers call being "in the weeds." You can't seem to catch up on tickets, your order pad has mysteriously disappeared (along with every pen you'd sequestered in your apron), and as you sprint from one corner of the restaurant to the next, your left sock inches further and further down your heel until you've got a blister the size of Manhattan across your Achilles tendon.

I was definitely in the weeds. What had started out as a leisurely brunch turned into a mass exodus to the event space, which meant my steady pacing of tables suddenly turned into being double-sat, triple-sat, dodecahedron-sat (that's a thing now), everyone screaming for their pancakes and Bloody Marys like it was the restaurant's fault a DC summer thunderstorm chose this moment to sweep through.

The brother-brother-wife-wife-baby-baby group told me to do what I needed to do--they were happy to sit and drink their beers and work up a healthy drunk appetite before ordering food. For the next 45 minutes, I sprinted between tables and delivered plates of eggs and bacon, every once in a while swooping back to my only pleasant table with another round of Corona Extras.

Each time I stopped by, the group would cheer--full on, "my team just scored a goal in sportsball and this is an appropriate social reaction" cheer. I'd drop off the new beers, sweep up the empties, and be gone in a blaze of black sneakers, as my squad cheered me on--"You're doing great! You're kicking butt! Look how fast she's moving!"--as I sped back to the kitchen.

That table turned what could have been a horrible brunch shift into a downright fun one. Once the post-thunderstorm insanity settled down and I was able to get back into my routine (really, it was directly tied to the number of platters of sweet potato pancakes the kitchen could sling out in a set amount of time), I was able to smooth my ponytail, straighten my apron, and get down to business with this table.

We ended up chatting for fifteen or twenty minutes. I earned a roar of laughter every time I asked if the group was ready for a new round of beers, because I also asked the babies (too young to even smile at me) if they were ready for their next Bloody Mary. By the end of their meal, my table had been there a solid two hours, drank a total of ten Corona Extras, and eaten their way through their own lunch platters along with an order of sweet potato pancakes for the table. The babies slept the entire time, blissfully unaware of their parents' rooster crows and shouts for beer (and one mom in particular's loud, donkey bray of a laugh, which I could hear in perfect quality no matter where in the restaurant I was at that moment).

By the time they asked for the check, the table and I were best friends and making plans to introduce each other to our mothers. (Alas, it never came to pass, because they were tourists on one of their last days in DC.)

To make a great table even better, they agreed to put the whole check on one card instead of having me divvy up all those pancakes and Coronas. One of the twins paid and signed the check with a flourish, and gave me a generous wink as I picked up the check.

"Thanks so much!" I said. "You guys have been a hoot."

"No, thank you!" the twins said, in that we-didn't-rehearse-this-we're-just-twins way of unison that always freaks me out (which is a bit ironic, given my sister and I do it all the time). Again, both twins gave me a huge wink and the table descended into giggles as I walked away.

The family was already halfway out the door by the time I checked the tip -- $76 on a $150 tab. I waved as the group left and headed back into my shift with a new bounce in my step, a bandage on my ankle, and a chance to catch my breath.

Now, several years later, it seems silly to pull a business lesson out of one wacky table, but on days where I feel like my Asana task list has gotten out of control, it’s the thought of that authentic experience that keeps me going.

As a business owner, one of the hardest lessons I had to learn was that sometimes, you really can’t do it all. And that’s okay! If you have to change a deadline, issue a refund, or let a task fall, the world isn’t going to end — so long as you’re authentic and over-communicative about the problem as it’s occurring. There’s nothing worse than letting a client down (except maybe lying about it to try and cover your own butt).

What I’ve learned in my years running GMC is that clients love authenticity — and so do their customers. The reason that table and I gelled so well was because I was my true self with them. They knew I was in the weeds, they didn’t take it personally that I couldn’t talk to them right away, and because I was willing to joke about my situation with them, they understood where I was coming from. It all worked out.

I’m not saying the key to client relations is to crack a joke every five minutes. It takes a certain breed of client to really go for that sort of thing. (You know who you are! ;-) )

My point here is that authenticity will always win out, even over professionalism. Sometimes, the easiest way to avoid a ton of headaches is to just level with your client. “I need to move that deadline to Monday. Cool by you?” goes over a heck of a lot better than, “Sorry this is late! I’m the worst!”

All in all, I love working with clients who allow me to be myself, because that means I’m doing a good job of getting to the authentic heart of the client’s business, too. When we work together and understand each other, we turn out a whole lot of excellent results.

The perfect client relationship really IS all that and a platter of pancakes.